


Delayed gratification

by Donya



Series: Lady Smallwood my love [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cock Cages, F/M, Femdom, Nothing Drastic, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smallcroft, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/Donya
Summary: Elizabeth Smallwood is Mycroft's keyholder.Or, guess why her codename is Love.





	Delayed gratification

'Comfortable?' Elizabeth asked, knowing the answer. Her hand lingered between Mycroft's spread thighs, the tip of her finger traced the edges of the slots of the cage, careful not to touch his skin. She liked to build the tension gradually, starting from the lightest brush. Fleeting touches that in other circumstances would be barely noticeable, a needless stop on the way to the final destination. Amazing how a small, three-piece steel device changed that attitude. Impressive how easily it turned stubborn, argumentative men into eager to serve boys.

Mycroft stared at his crotch as if he still couldn't comprehend how he got into that situation. Or perhaps he was mesmerised by the sight, as much as Elizabeth. The shiny steel of the cage, his pitiful, swollen member pushing against the slots as if trying to break free, the lovely small padlock connecting the cage to the cock ring. Gorgeous. His initial reaction to the idea of this kind of restraint, a mild shock, made her suggest the lightest versions. Experiments with different materials and shapes took a while, by trial and error Mycroft found the right one. Elizabeth was glad the occasional pinching and the foreign sensation of cold, heavy steel didn't discourage him. Good little puppy.

Smiling at the memory of watching him sit down so extremely carefully, she thumbed the head, where she could reach it. Mycroft's instantaneous loud intake of breath was delightful to hear. Such a responsive, appreciative boy, so sensitive. He could only get semi-hard and curiously, the discomfort of it didn't alleviate his arousal. She pressed her thumb to the exposed flesh and moved higher, to the small, round hole at the very top of the cage. She could feel the slit, wet, leaking. She loved his enthusiastic responses. Breathy little sounds of excitement, trembling of his legs and hands twitching as he fought the impulse to grab himself and stroke as fast as he wanted.

What Mycroft wanted from their arrangement was not only the thrill of denying himself pure, physical pleasure. That alone would not make him so pliable and obedient. He knew, deep inside, that he craved this sort of treatment. The surrender of control, clear rules, the simplicity of it. There was no room for doubt, he did not need to guess what was expected of him. Earning praise had never been easier for him. That was what he enjoyed most about it. Being called a good boy prior to the cage made him slightly embarrassed. Now there was nothing awkward about the words of approval that Elizabeth was rather generous with. He knew he deserved it for following the instructions. He didn't mind teasing on the days when the ring and cage stayed on. Even when he was a panting mess at Elizabeth's feet, he was happy as long as she told him how good he was. Attention and affection. He simply wanted to be appreciated, good enough for once in his life. The physical discomfort was a small price for that.

'I asked you if you're comfortable,' she reminded as she stroked his trapped length with five fingers.

Mycroft looked at her with his puppy eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his chest was heaving. He tried to concentrate on replying, even when Elizabeth was nearly touching his testicles. His breath caught in his throat, although nothing about it was a surprise.

'Yes.' His voice couldn't sound any less authoritative. Elizabeth doubted that his own brother would recognise it. 'Yes, comfortable,' he added.

She smiled. 'Is that so? ' She let him feel just the hint of her nails. 'I'm sure we can remedy that.'

Mycroft was aware of how uninhibited she was and how little screams and tears of the submissive bothered her. He knew he was an exception, none of her former locked boys wanted a gentle approach. Elizabeth remembered his anxiety when they discussed the terms of their agreement, his list of 'absolutely not' and fear she would find him unworthy of her time. Certainly, adjusting took some time and on occasion, she wished he were into bondage, at least. Spanking was also out of question, mostly because she didn't want to punish him. He reminded her of a vulnerable kicked puppy that desperately needed reassurance. That, however, didn't mean she couldn't torment him. Long, slow strokes that kept him near the edge, teasing that went on and on, she didn't need to use force to show who was in control. While the idea of using a spreader bar, that was sadly gathering dust, was tempting, Elizabeth had to admit that making Mycroft constantly control himself had its good sides. Nothing prevented him from closing his legs or taking hold of himself, he had to stay focused enough to avoid doing that and Elizabeth made sure it was a struggle.

She continued caressing his shaft, occasionally applying more pressure, without any consistency. He didn't sound as tortured as she wanted, though, so with her free hand, she cupped his balls. So tender and tight, exposed and asking for her touch. Brushing her thumb across the sack, increasingly harder and squeezing to the point of pain did the trick. His whimpers and frequent jerking movements of his hips when he couldn't hold still were much more satisfying. He didn't start begging yet and Elizabeth didn't want to rush it. She did like the phase of frantic begging that wasn't followed by the safeword and wanted to savour it.

'Good boy, taking it so well,' she said, keeping her voice soft. Mycroft momentarily appeared less tense. She wondered if she could make him come by just talking to him, by assuring him he was a very, very good boy. It was worth exploring.

They had a clear schedule. She would regularly release him and let him ejaculate. Apart from eliminating the unnecessary fear, it helped Elizabeth torment Mycroft most efficiently. The closer they got to The Day, the more teasing he had to endure. She wasn't pleased when his voice didn't become high-pitched and desperate. One of the ways to achieve that was to suck him. When she had done that for the first time, when she had let this caged, aching cock slip into her mouth, Mycroft nearly passed out. Utterly speechless and unable to tear his eyes away from her lips stretched around the cage, he was too stunned to attempt misbehaving, remained very still. He couldn't get any real pleasure from it, yet every time Elizabeth felt like spoiling him a little, he was so determined to be good and make it last as long as possible. The tiniest thrust put an end to it, regardless of his sincere apologies.

She let go of the cage, ignoring Mycroft's wordless pleading. He was getting used to the warmth of her hands. She couldn't have that. He was not going to have an orgasm any time soon and it was best he cooled off. A single ice cube dragged up and down every slot of the cage until it melted usually worked. The sounds Mycroft produced were most amusing, from small whines to anguished sobs when she picked up more cubes and focused on his balls. He didn't try to pull away and she was in a good mood; apart from rubbing his testicles with a handful of ice cubes, she occasionally replaced them with her tongue, just for a moment. It went on until Mycroft, too caught up in conflicting sensations, forgot to thank her. He was supposed to say it after every single lick.

'I'm sorry, I-'

His babbling convinced her not to indulge him any more. Her gentleness was not to be confused with leniency.

She disposed of the nearly melted cubes and wiped her hands. Mycroft opened his mouth half a dozen times but reconsidered. The best thing he could do in such situations was to shut his mouth. So far, he hadn't given her a reason to postpone his release day. An orgasm was a privilege and Mycroft learnt it impressively quickly.

 

The joys of being a keyholder were too numerous to count. The complete control, the wonderful sense of power, the ownership that could not be denied. She smirked as she recalled Magnussen and his absurd idea that he could own her. It was most amusing that he, supposedly so astute, misjudged her. She was not to be owned but to own. Sometimes she would stroke the key to Mycroft's freedom, thinking how he felt wearing the steel trap that only she could open (unless it was an emergency.) The weighty device didn't let him forget that his cock and his pleasure belonged to her. The power she had over him pleased her to no end. But that was not the biggest perk of taming a naughty boy. She loved most what he could offer her and that was the most enjoyable oral sex. There was no whining that his knees hurt, no complaining that she wanted to drag it out and nearly strangled him with her thighs. He had learnt to surrender to the inconveniences of that position. She could, as she was doing now, sit back, relax and let Mycroft entertain her. His only job was to do as she instructed him, express his gratitude for the opportunity and expect nothing in return.

His head was between her thighs and his hands were on her hips. She didn't think he would have the audacity to sneak a hand to his groin for an illusion of relief when she wasn't looking, but better safe than sorry. His breath, so close to her cunt, was enough to experience a happy anticipation of future pleasure. The sweet tingling when his tongue dipped in between her folds made her hum in appreciation. He set to work before she became impatient, that alone was a vast improvement. He pressed his tongue to her and as slowly as humanly possible, moved downwards, to her opening and circled it. Her breathing was noticeably faster and louder and she found herself grinding against his face. Eliciting such a reaction from her was, unsurprisingly, quite easy, which only raised the expectations of some men, those for whom it was only an optional step to what they wanted.

She gasped when Mycroft began a long journey upwards. The tip of his tongue was getting closer and closer to her clit. He nudged it, softly at first, then started lapping at it at a very specific way that had Elizabeth arching her back and moaning quietly. After a few, blissful moments, he repeated the process, first her entrance, then slow, slow way up to her clit. Sometimes she would wander off into her fantasies, unwillingly helping Mycroft achieve his goal. The thought of a slim Japanese woman with delicate features and almond eyes had been incredibly effective since her adolescent years. However, that and her sliding her hands up her chest to her breasts would be cheating. She preferred to let Mycroft do the hard work and just wait for the big finale.

Mycroft patiently continued the pattern of licking her most sensitive spot for a while, moving away from it for a few moments and repeating the process. The languorous rhythm allowed her to focus on the reactions of her body. Involuntary shudders every time Mycroft was doing a particularly good job, rocking movements of her hips, pleased sighs and her moans. She loved the sounds she made when she was close to a climax, the more obscene, the better. She wanted to be loud and was fond of the wet noise in the background. She would never take a page from Irene Adler's book and waste her fervent moaning on a text alert noise for a Holmes, but she would love to use it on her phone, instead of safe, default melody. She had shared that idea with Mycroft and he was mostly supportive, just a tiny bit mortified. The latter was perhaps the result of her cupping him through his clothes in his office.

His mouth was now on her inner thigh, giving her time to catch her breath and cool off slightly. He knew better than to scrape the skin there with his teeth, one of the things he had to unlearn. He didn't speak, another sign of progress. So much dedication. She stroked his back with her foot to signal his attention was needed elsewhere. Seconds later, her legs were shaking. The drag of his tongue felt exquisite, his hands on her hips tightened, but not enough for a reprimand. He knew she was almost there. One final push... The thought reminded her of best possible use of a caged prick, something she had tried in the past. On impulse, she unlocked her ankles and slid her legs from Mycroft's shoulders. He gave her a questioning look, poor, confused boy, probably thought he had accidentally crossed her.

She propped herself up on her elbows and their eyes met right over her throbbing cunt. 'I want you to lie on your back.'

His thoughts were practically audible. _What? Really? Oh, my God! Can you really do that?_

When he lay back and awkwardly shifted his hands away from his body a couple of times, she joined him and straddled his thighs. Despite his best efforts, he failed at hiding his excitement. A front-row seat in a mind-blowing spectacle. A flexible former gymnast performing right in front of his very eyes. He was more than willing to let her have her way with his body. 

'These,' she touched his hips, 'will not move. Don't forget this is for my satisfaction only. Do you understand?'

'Yes.' His huge eyes glanced at her and then at the cage and back at her. He was most likely furiously throwing away useless memories from his mind palace to make room for what was about to happen.

'Keep your hands where they are now. ' She shifted closer, grasped him and lifted her hips a bit.

'My God, Elizabeth, don't hurt yourself,' Mycroft warned her, half-worried, half-aroused.

He was so funny sometimes. 'Oh, Mycroft,' she chuckled and gave him a harsh tug, making a mental note to make his next release day particularly challenging. 'Be quiet.'

She rubbed the tip of the cage against her opening. Owing to Mycroft's tedious work, she was slippery enough to take it without too much hassle. The stretch was pleasant, nothing she couldn't handle, but the cage was cold and hard, except for the slots. That was the only contact Mycroft's cock was going to have with her cunt. She clenched down on him and started rocking back and forth, paying no attention to his incoherent exclamations. Nothing was easier than closing her eyes and blocking out the completely redundant stimuli. The unyielding hardness inside her was tolerable and when she remembered how exhilarating it was for her locked in boy, she almost found it worth repeating. Then she remembered there was another option: attaching a strap-on to Mycroft's lower belly and riding it. Mycroft would love it, or he wouldn't, but he would do anything she asked of him.

Whenever she was in that position, she indulged in a secret fantasy of a man sneaking up behind her and pulling her hair back. Hard. Without her conscious decision, she arched her back, imagined someone was forcing her to do so. A faceless man, none of her boys, with strong, big hands. He carded his fingers through her hair, caught a handful, twisting it around his wrist and yanked her head back towards him. Warm pulsation between her folds and continuous groans proved beyond any doubt that her old fantasy didn't lose its allure. She had always kept it to herself and didn't let anyone touch her hair. It was a blessing in disguise that the Danish pig ruined face licking for her and not hair pulling.

Teetering on the edge of a blissful, well-deserved orgasm, she felt a set of very real hands on her thighs, for a brief moment. She didn't need to say a word, Mycroft corrected himself without delay. She breathlessly called him a good boy and returned to the task at hand. Bent her back even more, staring blankly at the ceiling and held Mycroft's knees for balance. One of the stranger's hands left her hair and moved straight to her sweet spot and massaged it just as she would do it, applying the right amount of pressure. Silky black hair of the innocent-looking Japanese brushed against her breast, her nipples and smooth lips were suddenly flush with her own, a tongue slid over hers. Fingers, smaller than hers, skimmed across her back, lower and lower, finally resting against the curve of her arse. Foreign words whispered in her ear, filthy encouragements. She rarely had enough self-control to continue past that point. The pleasure was becoming unbearable and she heard her own scream. Wave after wave rocked her as kept grinding her hips, decreasing the force of her movements and slowly coming back to reality.

She stayed unmoving for the longest moment, glad Mycroft didn't interrupt her contemplation. While she was gathering strength to get off him, she wondered if he was going to suggest renegotiation of their agreement. To her endless joy, when she opened her eyes, Mycroft was still silent and didn't even consider begging her to unlock him. Oh, she knew he had a potential. Still slack-jawed and not quite sure how to process what he had just experienced, he needed a moment to remember his manners.

'Thank you.' 

Grinning, she took a seat between his knees and touched his now slick cock with just the tip of her finger. He didn't say he had enough already or that it was getting late. Every time she was in the mood, he was most grateful.

'What would you say to another ice cube session?'

He replied without too much thinking. 'Let me bring the ice and thank you.'

Such a good, little pet. 


End file.
